Today I consulted Mister SF for a map of “Vertigo” locations (besides the easy-peasy Mission Dolores, Legion of Honor and Fort Point) for a geeky day tour. (Outings are always better with a theme.) But I could spend months doing Mister SF cinema tours alone. Next week, we’re totally doing the “George of the Jungle” tour. Good times.

Images and helpful information courtesy of the fabulous NoeHill.com. Click an image for more NoeHill goodness.

Fortunately, neither is required at Lovejoy’s Tea Room on Church in Noe Valley. In fact, you can walk in off the street and partake of a variety of fine teas, including the classic High Tea for Two. That’s exactly what the boy and I did yesterday and sweet lord, was it good. He boasted that the chicken apple walnut tapenade sandwiches he had were “probably the best sandwiches I have ever had in my life.” Plus, Lovejoys serves Taylor’s of Harrogate loose-leaf tea, which pretty much lays the smackdown on every other tea. (An exception would be the Scottsdale, Arizona-based Leaves’s Earl Grey and Lavender, available at the Bi-Rite and other fine markets in our fair city. But don’t go near that Twinings shit. That’s for tourists.) Plus, they have one of my favorite wee sandwiches, Branston pickle and cheddar. Oh, and the scones are just the world champions of scones. Seriously. Buttery, surprisingly moist and able to stand up to even the heapingest helping of Devon cream and strawberry jam.

I booked tea for three in September when my mother will be visiting me from Pennsylvania, but I’m guessing we make it back to Lovejoy’s semi-weekly. Trust me on this one. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 morning buns from Tartine. Go directly to Lovejoy’s for your beverage and pastry fix.

Seriously, though, folks, I’d just like to take a moment to pose an architectural challenge: London’s Gherkin (aka 30 St. Mary Axe) v. San Francisco’s ScrapHouse

Both were built to be green. The Gherkin features a facade that “is cooled by extracted air from the offices [most of which are empty and may remain so until the architects sort out a recent glass-poppage issue], thus reducing the overall heat load.” But ScrapHouse may have the environmental upper hand over London’s (let’s face it) giant dildo: It’s built entirely from salvaged materials, and when it reaches the end of its short lifespan, “everything from the foundation to the front door will be reclaimed and re-used.”

And, while the Gherkin took more than five years to build, ScrapHouse was built in two weeks. The last two weeks of May, specifically. By June 6th, ScrapHouse will be dismantled and recycled, so if you want to see it before it’s gone, you’d better do so this weekend.

ScrapHouse is located on Civic Center Plaza at the corner of Grove and Polk, immediately across the street from San Francisco City Hall.

As it happens, a friend of mine does some MOR booking and she’s promised to keep me apprised of any upcoming goodness that you, my fun-loving Metroblog readers, might enjoy. Lo and behold, tonight is a peach of a night for you to trundle in, with three fine bandingtons on the roster.

Check ‘em out:
El Olio Wolof
Franklin Delano
Six Eye Columbia

The aforementioned pally has positively impeccable taste in tunes, so rest assured that your pocket money (A mere $6! Hell, you can find that in your couch cushions!) will be well spent this eve, should you choose to attend.

Also, stay tuned for Scrabbel on the 19th of May. I forgot to tell yinz all about them when they opened for The Lucksmiths earlier this month, and I regret it so much, I’m giving you this week-and-a-half heads-up. If you go, you can tell all your friends you saw Scrabbel way back when…

One night this week, I flipped out and decided I needed a hair cut RIGHT NOW. So I called up every salon within walking distance and the first place with an open seat? Firehorse on Haight. It’s a small storefront between Steiner and Pierce, very basic, very quiet and absolutely devoid of pretension. Cash or checks only, people, but the prices are reasonable.

And if you ask for Julia, she’ll tell you all about your hair’s “matrix.” Seriously.

Take the red pill.

I tried emailing The Tanglers to inquire about non-Farmer’s Market-related gigs, but they’re not talkin’.

Okay, technically neither I nor anyone else can simply “give” you the beer festival, since it’s $45 (in advance) and $55 (at the door) to sample all the foamy goodness you possibly can within a mere three hours (7 p.m. to 10 p.m.) tomorrow, April 9th. It’s all going down at the festival pavilion at Fort Mason.

And if “over 200 incredible beers from some of the best craft brewers in the world” doesn’t get your attention, I doubt a performance by Squeegee’s Polka Trio will either, but they’ll be at the Beer Fest, too, just in case.

And hey! A raffle to win a trip to Denmark! Home of…Calsberg?!

I’d rather go for Lars von Trier and cheese, but what do I know?

There will be food and drink and comfy seating, so do stop by. Still not tempting enough for you? Well, I have two words about the book itself: vampire pirates. What’s not to love?

Full disclosure: Image Comics helps keep me in food and shelter, but I have been assured by sources close to the project that Sea of Red is a fine book worthy of your patronage.

Isotope will be giving away copies of the first issue and the creators will be on hand to sign it up for you. But you’ll probably have to fall in line behind a bunch of HOT BABES waiting to get their boobs signed.

So, you know, come early or whatever.

Anyway, based on a friend’s recommendation, he and I trundled on over to Blade Runners in the Haight today. I sat around silently recommending the client in the chair directly opposite me go an entirely different direction with her hair (sadly, she did not heed my psychic warning), and admiring the singular quality of all the stylists employed at said establishment.

If Suicide Girls opened a hair salon, this would be it. With the exception of one finely coiffed gentleman, every single stylist in the place was a heavily tattooed psychobilly/punk/indie/goth girl with either red, black, blue or white hair (or some combination of the four). It was spectacular, I tell you. And, surliness aside, my boyfriend’s stylist kicked hair.

You must understand: Should the Michelin Guide begin reluctantly doling out stars for hair salons, my dude would be the fiercest critic on their roster. For those of you who don’t have a Bronwyn-to-English decoder ring, alls I’m sayin’ is, he’s a picky motherfucker. So “it’s good, I guess,” as a response to “do you like your haircut” was high praise indeed.

Except for the aforementioned woman who asked her stylist to “make me beautiful” and then insisted he do nothing more than give her a trim, everyone looked pretty pleased with the service. And by fancy haircutting standards, their prices don’t suck, either.